Draco sighed as he observed the warm sunlight for the thousandth time. It streamed through the dusty windows of the train, the shadows it cast jerking along with the movement over the tracks.
Draco, his sister Antares, and a friend of his, Blaise Zabini, were traveling to a house they had rented for a month. They would probably extend the trip, though. Country air will do you good, his mother had said. Or rather, ordered in that bossy way mothers do when they know they're right. He grinned and flinched at the thought of his mother.
For then, the bomb had exploded. A stupid Muggle bomb planted by a stupid Muggle terrorist ahd killed the woman he had loved most.
Ironic, wasn't it, Draco thought grimly. His mother spent three fourths of her life hating anything to do with Muggles, then a Muggle explosive murders her.
A man got on at the next station. Three stations later, he got off, to be replaced by a pink-haired woman who got off at the following stop.
Just like life, Draco mused. He leaned back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. This train ride was just like life. People came into it, and then got out. Some stayed longer than others. There were some that stayed the whole way, like Antares and Blaise. Perhaps it was because they were going to the same place. Or perhaps they weren't.
Well, one thing was for sure. Love was like the pink-haired lady. It wasn't worth it. So symbolic, he thought bitterly. Love was only a flitting moment in time. His own beloved had only once come to him with open arms. Those three months had been bliss.
Now, in the modern world, going with someone for three months may seem like a long time. But in the long run, it was like a pulsar.
A tinny voice announced their stop. With a quick lance at Blaise and Antares, Draco gathered his things and they walked onto the platform.
The train really as like life, he decided. It was like the cruel world today. Maybe you got off, but it kept going.